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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24301231">the thrilling adventures of cross-precinct affairs</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV), Prodigal Son (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Crossover, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Good Parent Gil Arroyo, Human Disaster Malcolm Bright, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Mental Health Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parental Gil Arroyo, Parental Ray Holt, Team Bonding, adoptive dads for everyone!, but only in relation to the case, jake and malcolm bond over daddy issues, malcolm is sad but the nine-nine won't let him get away with it, minor depictions of murder</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:22:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,424</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24301231</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain Raymond Holt calls in New York’s resident serial killer profiler and his team over a string of murders in Brooklyn’s ninety-ninth precinct. </p><p>Shenanigans ensue.</p><p>Spoilers:<br/>post-1x07 'Q&amp;A' for Prodigal Son<br/>post-season 2 for Brooklyn Nine-Nine</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gil Arroyo &amp; Malcolm Bright, Jake Peralta &amp; Malcolm Bright, Ray Holt &amp; Jake Peralta</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>95</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. guess who just got murdered!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>malcolm meets the gang</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Disclaimer: I have no idea how the New York police department/legal system works. I also don’t know a whole lot about actual criminal profiling. Warnings for canon-typical descriptions of violence, death, and Malcolm’s mental issues.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm’s jaw cracks around a yawn as he slings his tie around his neck, straightening his collar as he quickly dresses himself for the day. He checks his phone again. Gil wouldn’t be there for another five minutes, leaving him just enough time for half a Pellegrino before work.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sparkling water, the breakfast of champions. His hand trembles as he cracks the lid and takes a sip. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Morning, Sunshine,” Malcolm greets, topping the parakeet’s bowl off with a fresh helping of birdseed. “Time for another day for the both of us.” She lets out a twitter in response, shuffling along her perch to lean into the hand he stretches out toward her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His phone pings, and he withdraws his hand, latching her cage door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m here, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Gil’s text reads. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll fill you in on the details along the ride</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another day, another murder. Malcolm wouldn’t have it any other way. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>…actually, he could definitely do without the complex PTSD, insomnia, night terrors, trust issues, the occasional stress-hallucination, and basically everything else wrong with him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He chuckles self-deprecatingly at himself as he steps out into the brisk New York air, sliding into Gil’s waiting car and slamming the door behind him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Morning, city boy,” the man says, shifting the car into gear and pulling into the road. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Morning, Gil,” Malcolm returns, sliding his seatbelt over his shoulder and clicking it into place. “What’re we up to today?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ve got a bit of an unusual call,” Gil says. He pauses. “Well, actually, the case itself isn’t unusual. It’s murder, your favorite.” Malcolm huffs in amusement. “What’s unusual is that the call is from another precinct—the 99th, in Brooklyn.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So they want our help,” Malcolm says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yup, looks like it.” Gil glances over. “They asked for us, specifically. It seems your reputation precedes you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Me?” Malcolm says, eyebrows raised. “Well, my reputation here can’t be any worse than at the FBI, at least. Are Dani and JT coming too?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gil nods. “There’ve been two killings with the same M.O. within a month, that’s got the precinct’s detectives stumped. The captain of the precinct, one Raymond Holt, wants our—your—insight on the killer’s profile. The rest of us are there to help with the grunt work.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know anything about the detectives on the case?” Malcolm asks. “Who they are, how long they’ve been on the force, do they hate my guts, the usual?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know much,” Gil says, “although the captain did say something about being highly unorthodox, which I’m sure we won’t have a problem with.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Unorthodox,” Malcolm repeats. “Yeah, I think I can work with that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And they won’t hate you, kid,” Gil sighs. “As long as you don’t try to immediately profile them and expose all their deepest secrets before you’ve even gotten to know them as people. Again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, they’ll hate me,” Malcolm says, flashing Gil a grin when the older man throws The Look at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The car lapses into silence after that. Malcolm allows the gentle rumbling of Gil’s driving to lull his thoughts away from the case and the strangers that he’ll have to work with in the very near future, the ones that will inevitably come to despise him and his many, many issues. Issues that cause his hands to tremble uncontrollably, that flash across his eyelids every time he closes them and allows his mind to drift away from whichever murder he’s currently occupied with. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hopefully, the case would be resolved quickly and Malcolm wouldn’t have a chance to screw anything up. Besides, he’d gotten two whole hours of sleep last night, and he hasn’t received any calls from Claremont since the weekend. He has a new murder to distract himself with—multiple murders, even. By all accounts, Malcolm should be riding high. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighs to himself, leaning against the car window. Gil pats his thigh without looking over. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s gonna be okay, kid,” the man says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm wishes he could believe him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After another minute, Gil turns into a small parking lot next to a square, five-storey building. As the car slows to a stop, Malcolm spots Dani and JT, Dani’s hand raised in greeting. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Morning!” He calls, clambering out of Gil’s sedan. “Looks like the gang’s all here!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello, Bright,” Dani says, while JT nods. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, we should get going,” Gil says, walking over and taking the lead in front of their small team. “Captain Holt said his detectives would brief us, so let’s not keep them waiting for too long.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They shuffle into the precinct, and Gil stabs the button for the top floor in the elevator. Malcolm draws in a deep breath and tucks his hands into his coat pockets.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The elevator dings as it stops, doors rolling open sedately—and the following events unfold as if in slow-motion:</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>First, Malcolm hears a blast of sound. It’s coming from a woman standing on top of a desk, a pressurized air horn canister in one hand and a confetti gun in the other. She’s screaming something at the top of her lungs— “</span>
  <em>
    <span>LET THE ANNUAL NINE-NINE ROLLER DERBY COMMENCE!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> The sheer volume of everything is enough to make Malcolm flinch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Second, Malcolm sees two men on roller skates in the open floor of the main office area; one is tall, his shirt practically exploding with muscles, while the other is shorter, around Malcolm’s height, with round cheeks and short hair. They’re fully decked out in helmets, arm guards, knee pads, and mouth guards, and they’re both sobbing hysterically as they cling to one another with wobbling feet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Third, and most importantly, Malcolm feels something slam him backward at full speed before he can properly register what’s happening, teeth clacking as his head bounces off the elevator wall and he falls feet-over-ass. He’s momentarily stunned while he’s pinned to the ground by a heavy object, and his head rolls as he struggles to suck in a breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then, everything snaps back into real time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, sorry, I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>so sorry</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” a voice from above apologizes profusely. The heavy object pinning him down squirms, easing off of Malcolm’s chest. “Are you okay? I didn’t permanently injure you or anything, did I? Geez, the movies make this whole roller skating thing look so easy!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man is a bit taller than himself, with short brown curls and a mouth stretched in a wide grin. He’s wearing roller skates, like the rest of the people in the office, and his police badge flops against his chest with every movement. He’s still talking. “Again, I am so sorry. Let me just say that this is entirely Detective Amy Santiago’s fault,” he raises his voice over his shoulder, “for convincing me I should go at warp speed on these things instead of weenie speed!” He offers Malcolm a hand up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Without thinking, Malcolm accepts it. Naturally, this causes the man to overbalance again, skates slipping out from under him, and he falls onto Malcolm for the second time in as many minutes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm wheezes as he looks up at his teammates’ shocked faces. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Unorthodox,” he says, echoing Gil’s words from earlier. “I think I’m gonna like it here.” He lets his head fall back with a groan.</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lieutenant Arroyo,” the man who is undoubtedly Captain Holt greets, “thank you for coming here today.” Gil shakes his hand, Malcolm and the others flanking his side as they finally enter the bullpen, no roller skates in sight. “I apologize for the commotion just now, especially on Detective Peralta’s half.” He sends a glare around at his subordinates, who look like suitably cowed children. At least some of them view their captain as a sort of parental figure, then, Malcolm muses. Eager to please, but also comfortable enough to have fun when the captain isn’t looking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a pleasure to be here,” Gil says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The pleasure is all mine,” Holt says. “Please, let me introduce you to my squad. Squad, this is Lieutenant Arroyo of the 23rd precinct, and these are detectives Powell and Tarmel. Bright is their consulting profiler.” Everyone murmurs the requisite pleasantries. Holt continues, “and these are my detectives.” He gestures at each person as he names them. Malcolm’s brain kicks into autodrive, idly profiling his temporary new colleagues on reflex. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lieutenant Terrence Jeffords.” It’s the muscular man who was one of the hysterical duo before, now composed and somber-looking. Malcolm notes his wedding ring and the photos on the desk he’s leaning against, all depicting a happy family of five. Married, three kids, cares about his health, but likely for the sake of his family more so than concern for appearances. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Detective Amy Santiago.” A woman Malcolm hadn’t seen from before, with long dark hair and dressed in a crisp pantsuit. Everything about her is impeccably professional, from her greeting to her demeanor. Rule-follower, a need to please authority. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Detective Charles Boyle.” The second of the hysterical duo. Earnest, open, loyal to his colleagues and friends around him. And obsessed with food, if the subtle but many stains on his shirt are anything to go by. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My assistant, Gina Linetti.” The woman with the airhorn. She hasn’t looked up from her phone this entire time, and her bright pink lipstick and hoodie with her own name on it indicate a desire for attention, potentially even narcissism. Her desk is covered in confetti and pictures of male models.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Detective Rosa Diaz.” Another woman Malcolm hasn’t seen. Dark makeup, all-black clothing, and perpetual glare—aggressive and closed off, the exact opposite of Detective Boyle. She glares at them, although that doesn’t seem to be too unusual for her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And finally, Detective Jake Peralta.” The man who’d crashed into Malcolm. He’s grinning, seemingly delighted with the chaos he’d help create just a few minutes ago. Wears his badge open and proudly. So he enjoys a good time, but the way his eyes constantly cut toward his captain indicate a need for validation. “Peralta, I’ve called in Lieutenant Arroyo and his squad to help you with your murder case. They’ll be assisting you from now on.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peralta’s eyes meet Malcolm’s from across the room, wide with shock. Of course, the detective who had body-slammed him would be the lead investigator on this case. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Belatedly, he remembers to smile. “Nice to meet you, Detective Peralta.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, you too,” Peralta manages. “This is gonna be cool! Cool cool cool cool cool cool—”</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>— — — — — </span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jake fidgets at the front of the briefing room, reading and re-reading the evidence he’s tacked up onto the white board as he waits for everyone to file into a seat. Amy shoots him a reassuring smile, which Jake does his best to return.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everything’s fine! Totally cool! Someone as awesome as Bright wouldn’t hold a grudge over an accidental, roller skate-induced full-body tackle, right? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This case is </span>
  <em>
    <span>cool</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Arroyo and his team are </span>
  <em>
    <span>cool</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Jake is </span>
  <em>
    <span>absolutely fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, Peralta,” Captain Holt says once everyone is settled in. Bright is seated right in the front row. Jake doesn’t wipe his palms on his jeans nervously, because he’s not desperate to impress these people who probably see some seriously awesome murders every day for breakfast. “You may begin your briefing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you, Captain Holt! So!” Jake claps his hands, bouncing forward on his toes. “I’ve been investigating a couple of cases of murder for the past month or so. The first one came in three weeks ago, while the second just last week.” He points to two different pictures on the board, with the two different victims at the scene of the crimes. “At first, I treated them like two separate cases—the only thing the victims had in common with each other was that they were single women.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, actually, they had one more thing in common.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Both of them were strangled in their sleep. No sign of a struggle, no unexplained fingerprints or traceable DNA found at the scene. No footage of someone entering or leaving the vics’ residences. A total ghost.” Jake surveys the room for everyone’s reactions so far; Gina is bored and on her phone, as usual, while Hitchcock picks his nose and offers the contents on his finger for Scully to inspect. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bright, on the other hand, is leaning forward in his seat, elbows braced on his knees, and his eyes are bright (ha, ha) with fascination. Jake’s Totally Awesome Plan to appear Totally Awesome and impress the cool people is working!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He continues his speech. “I had a hunch the two killings were connected, but I couldn’t really prove anything, so I had to investigate them as separate cases.” He pauses again, for further dramatic effect. Damn, how did the movies manage to drag things out so long? He takes a deep breath and points to another photograph. “Until yesterday. There was a third strangling with the exact same M.O. Single woman, no sign of a struggle, no evidence left behind.” Jake rubs his hands together, gearing up for his punchline. “I call this killer… the One Night Strangler.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nobody reacts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, come on!” Jake says, throwing his hands in the air. “It’s funny because this guy has a one night stand with these women and then strangles them!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought it was funny, Jakey!” Charles immediately rushes to assure him. “I just… didn’t want to laugh too loud in case you said something else that was funny!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Thank </span>
  </em>
  <span>you, Charles,” Jake says. “Glad to know at least one person here appreciates me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charles beams. “Anything for my bestie.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anyway—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait, wait,” one of the new detectives says. Tarmel, he thinks. “How do you know they were sleeping with the killer?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean, if you look at the evidence,” Jake says, pointing to the relevant details on the white board, “every one of the victims was found in a state of undress—they weren’t totally naked, that would be gross, but also not in full PJ’s. Plus, the lack of a struggle at each scene would indicate a level of trust between the victims and the killer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What if the killer broke in while they were asleep?” The other detective, Powell, says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before Jake can answer, Bright jumps in. “Possible, but unlikely,” he says, eyes still trained on Jake’s Magic Evidence Board. “The nature of strangulation in this case, with the victim facing the killer the entire time, is extremely hands-on and intimate. A killer like that wouldn’t just break into any random house and murder a stranger.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bright stands, walking closer to the white board. Normally, Jake would be annoyed at someone stealing his thunder, but he’s too caught up in the absolute awesomeness that is Bright’s profiling in action to care. “They would want to establish a relationship, however brief. It’s the thrill of manipulating someone into trusting you, into letting you into their most vulnerable moments. And then punishing them for it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Also,” Jake takes the chance to cut in, “we have evidence that two of the three victims were last seen at the same bar on 47th the night of their murders. Family and friends tell us they were single, so—viola, one night stand.” Jake turns to Bright. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt your amazing profiling thing. That is </span>
  <em>
    <span>so freaking cool.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Please teach me how to do that. I will love you forever. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>already </span>
  </em>
  <span>love you forever.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bright, who had been opening his mouth to say something, snaps it closed at Jake’s words. “Oh, er—” he huffs out a slight laugh, glancing up at Jake. “Thank you? I think?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>welcome,” Jake beams.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The profiler laughs again. “Sorry, sorry, it’s just that people tend to think the whole profiling thing is a bit… creepy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“People are lame,” Jake says. “You’re like a real life—who’s that one guy—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sherlock Holmes!” Amy says from her seat. “You’re totally like Sherlock Holmes, from the books!” She smiles proudly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who the heck is that?” Jake says. “Geez, Amy, at least pick someone </span>
  <em>
    <span>cool </span>
  </em>
  <span>to compare him to. Like—”   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Peralta</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Holt cuts in. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span> continue the briefing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Er, yeah!” Jake says. “The briefing, right!” Bright steps away from him, settling back down into his chair. “So, now that we have three victims and a connection to the same bar, our next step should be to go question the staff. See if they know about any regulars who like to take home lonely women.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We should also check for suspects in any bar footage we have from the night of the murders,” Bright says. “We’re looking for someone with a minor criminal history, things like animal cruelty or a juvenile record.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why?” Rosa asks, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair. “That’s a lot of extra work. We don’t even know what our perp looks like.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before Jake can tell her off for doubting the super-cool profiler, Bright answers. “He’s a thrill-killer,” he says. “Unable to form proper emotional connections, likely due to a troublesome childhood. Also, this is not the first time he’s killed. It’s too neat, he cleans up after himself too well. That kind of person has a traceable history.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, I completely agree,” Jake nods. “That’s exactly what I was going to say, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” Captain Holt says, standing. “Diaz, I am assigning you as secondary. Peralta, please treat our guests with respect.” He opens the briefing room door. “Everyone else, dismissed!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not fair!” Jake whines as everyone in the room stands and begins to chatter. “I wanted to be the one to say that!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s what you deserve, lame-ass,” Gina says, still glued to her phone. She walks out with the crowd before Jake can think of a comeback. He’s sure it would’ve been a good one. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Soon, it’s just himself, Rosa, and Lieutenant Arroyo and his team left in the room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright! So,” Jake says, clapping his hands together. “The team’s all together! We should come up with a cool name.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up, Jake,” Rosa says. She looks at Arroyo and his team. “How do we want to do this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How about we split up?” Arroyo says. “Bright and I can head down to the bar and question the staff, Powell and Tarmel can stay here and sort through bar footage and potential suspects.” The two detectives in question don’t seem too put-out by being assigned to desk work. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I can go with you guys to the bar and Detective Diaz can stay here and help with the boring work,” Jake says. “Great talk! We’re doing so well already!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey!” Rosa says, “why do you get to—” she cuts herself off. “Actually, whatever. You’d just screw up our filing system if you stayed.” She nods to Powell and Tarmel. “C’mon, let’s go.” They follow after her, shooting each other bemused looks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Looks like it’s just us!” Jake grins, turning back to Bright and Arroyo. He grins widely. “Let’s go hunt down a murderer!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bright’s lips twitch upward into a tiny smile. Jake decides to count that as a victory. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading and please let me know what you think! Comments are the light of my life!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. father figure? more like bother figure</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>jake and malcolm have daddy issues</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings for non-graphic discussions of  murder in relation to the case, and Malcolm's Mental Issues (TM)<br/>Also, ADN = America Direct News, the zero-effort name of the news channel Ainsley works for</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Through an epic display of sheer will, Jake manages to act fairly normal and not spastic at all as he gets into his car. He thinks he’s mostly succeeded, since whenever he glances at Bright out of the corner of his eye, the profiler seems mostly unconcerned. Great, he can do this. Just stay chill, it’s only a fifteen-minute drive to the Lucky Dog Bar.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Two minutes in, and the quiet becomes unbearable. So Jake does what he does best: he talks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So…” he says, turning to look at Bright fully. “How’d you get into profiling? If you don’t mind my asking.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a moment, Bright doesn’t respond, and Jake immediately worries he’s somehow offended him and ruined his chances at getting in good with the guy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...It just seemed right,” Bright says, interrupting Jake’s panic-spiral. He shifts in his seat, looking out the window. “I studied criminal psychology in college, so it was pretty natural for me to apply to Quantico and join law enforcement afterward.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jake’s eyes practically bug out of his head. “You joined the FBI?! Why didn’t you tell me that before?!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I, uh, didn’t think it was relevant?” Bright says. “Besides, I don’t work for them anymore, as you can probably tell from my employment with the NYPD.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Still!” Jake says. “I thought you couldn’t get any cooler than you already were, and then you </span>
  <em>
    <span>totally</span>
  </em>
  <span> got even more cool! But also, why’d you quit? If I were in the FBI, I think I’d stay there ‘till I died.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, well,” Bright says, huffing out a breath, “I almost did die. And I didn’t quit, they fired me. For ‘psychopathic tendencies.’” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If foot-in-mouth syndrome were a disease, Jake thinks he’d be the world’s leading case; how he’s managed to screw up his chances with Bright so much in such a short amount of time, he’ll never know. “Oh, dude, I’m so sorry,” he rushes to apologize. “I didn’t know, sorry for bringing it up—” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Er, it’s okay, really,” Bright says. He clears his throat awkwardly. “Don’t worry about it. New job with the NYPD now, like I said.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah!” Jake says, spying an opportunity to save the conversation. “Screw the FBI, am I right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Didn’t you just say you’d want to stay in the FBI forever if you could?” Bright says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s ancient history! I have learned and grown from my past mistakes,” Jake says primly, doing his best Holt impression. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bright doesn’t quite smile, but Jake can sense the amusement radiating off of him. He seems like a kind of guy who could use a laugh or three, Jake thinks. Some laughs and a nice relaxing night out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Jake does want to be friends with Bright. Not just because he's a bad-ass profiler and deals in cool murders every day, but because he’s a good guy. Call it a hunch, but Jake feels like Bright could really benefit from some more friends in his life. Jake’s not necessarily the sharpest tool in the shed, admittedly, but he’s still the precinct’s top detective for a reason—he’s noticed the dark circles under Bright’s eyes, the perpetual tremor in his hand that he tries to hide.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The guy’s seen some shit, been through some shit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He supposes that could be chalked up to the nature of the profession Bright is involved in. But Bright had been so genuinely fascinated, back in the break room, where he’d begun dissecting their killer with such eagerness. He’s the kind of guy to lose himself to his work, make it his life. Bright would never be disturbed by his work.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jake would know—it’s what he does, too. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So there’s something outside Bright’s work life that haunts him. Even Jake knows he shouldn’t ask about it, but it makes him wonder what could be more disturbing than investigating homicides for a living. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A brilliant criminal profiler haunted by his unspeakable past. Jake cannot </span>
  <em>
    <span>believe </span>
  </em>
  <span>how cool Malcolm Bright is. Jake wants to be this guy’s new best friend—Charles will understand, he’s sure. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For now, though, they have the case to worry about. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they get to the Lucky Dog Bar, Lieutenant Arroyo has already secured them interviews with the regular manager. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, Mr. Shein,” Jake says, cramming himself into the tiny booth the balding man had led them to, “we have a couple questions we’d like to ask you regarding potential customers at your bar.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” Shein says, mopping at his brow, “my staff and I will do our best to help you. We’re very busy on the weekends, however, so it’s hard to keep track of names and faces, even for our regulars.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We can cross that bridge when we get there,” Arroyo assures the man. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“During the last month, have you noticed any regulars that like to chat up single women?” Jake asks. “Maybe like a pick-up artist type?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shein frowns. “I’m not certain,” he says. “We </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>a bar, after all. It’s very common for that sort of scenario to play out here. Our policy is that, as long as both parties are consenting, we leave them to sort out their own affairs. If you’re looking for a list of violent offenders—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no,” Jake says, “we’re definitely looking for someone who received consent from their targets. We’re looking for someone who’s shown up multiple times and found consenting women each time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you sure you don’t have a physical description of the guy you want?” Shein asks. “It would be a lot more helpful for us if we had a face to match to the actions you’re describing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Unfortunately, no,” Jake says, “that’s why we came here to talk to you guys.” Crap, this interrogation is getting them nowhere. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean, I can ask my staff to put together a list of regulars we think might match your description,” Shein says, doubt tingeing his words. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bright, who’s chosen to stay quiet and observe the interview for the most part, chooses this moment to speak. “It will be someone who’s been a regular at this bar for years,” he says, voice low. “Someone who’s always been a loner, never actively sought out contact from the people around him—until recently.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Er—” Shein says, “okay, I can pass that on to my staff—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He has an intense need for human connection,” Bright continues, steamrollering right over the bar manager. “One he wasn’t even aware of until a month ago, when the killings started. He’s very insistent with the women he approaches, speaks to them with single-minded focus.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” Shein says, looking overwhelmed. The conversation pauses as everyone who is not Bright absorbs what he just said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let us know when you assemble that list,” Arroyo says. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Shein.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Shein says, still staring at Bright. “Hey, wait a minute. Have I seen you somewhere before? Like on the news or something?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bright stiffens beside Jake. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, an edge in his voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh? You were on TV?” Jake asks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Bright says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes!” Shein says. “On that ADN special, I remember now! I saw you from that interview with Dr. Whitly, The Surgeon. You’re The Surgeon’s son!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who the hell still watches the news?” Jake says. </span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>— — — — — </span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm is reeling as he stumbles out of the bar. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How could he have forgotten that Ainsley included that part about him in the interview with their fa—with Dr. Whitly? Of course, he hadn’t actually seen it for himself, not after his mother’s timely interference. But he could never forget the fear, dread, and anger from the encounter, which resurface now as nausea. He’ll never escape his father’s legacy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Behind him, he hears the bar door closing as Gil walks out, the man having sent him outside while he and Peralta wrapped up the interview. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You good, kid?” Gil asks, walking up beside Malcolm where he’s braced against the man’s car. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” Malcolm says. He knows Gil knows he’s lying, but he doesn’t call Malcolm on it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry about that,” Gil says. “Shein was out of line. He shouldn’t have invaded your privacy like that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm chuckles weakly. “Not your fault, Gil,” he says. “My father has already ruined almost everything else about my life. What’s one more professional relationship? Peralta would have found out eventually, with my luck.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Still,” Gil says, “that doesn’t make it right. You don’t deserve half the things you think you do, Malcolm.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm only shrugs, unconvinced. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The door of the bar swings open again, this time revealing Peralta as he walks into the cool New York air. “Finished up with Shein and the waiters here,” he says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “He knows to contact us with information from the rest of the staff, as well as any new information they come across. I’m planning on heading back to the Nine-Nine and seeing what Diaz and the rest of your squad have found.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Great,” Gil says. “I’m going to head back to my office, take care of some other business that needs tending. Kid, let me take you home, you look like you could use some rest.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” Malcolm repeats. Gil looks unimpressed. “Actually, I think I’ll go with Peralta to check up on Dani and JT, too.” He looks over at Peralta, and suddenly realizes that the last thing the detective wants right now is probably to be alone in a car with Malcolm—not after what had just occurred. “I can take a cab, don’t worry about me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait, I can drive you if we’re going to the same place,” Peralta says, a puzzled look on his face. “Why wouldn’t I? We came here together, I can take you back no problem.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t want to impose on you,” Malcolm tries again to offer Peralta another out, in case he’s being polite.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why would you be imposing?” Peralta says. “I barely even understand what that word means. Besides, Amy’s always trying to get us to carpool at the office more, save the trees and all that!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm frowns, convinced Peralta is still only being polite. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before he can say anything else, however, Gil cuts in. “Actually, that sounds like a good idea,” he says. “Call me when you and Detective Peralta get there, keep me updated about your progress.” He nods at Peralta with a look Malcolm can’t quite interpret. Peralta beams back at Gil, fishing out his keys. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can count on me, Lieutenant!” He throws the man an exaggerated salute, “I’ll get your consultant back in one piece!” Gil smiles in amusement. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the two of them climb back into Peralta’s car, Malcolm feels ants crawling down his spine, his hand trembling as he shoves it into his pocket. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He waits until Peralta fires up the car engine and pulls into traffic. “So,” he begins, “about what happened back there, with what Shein was saying…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You mean the fact that he didn’t have any information, or that The Surgeon, an infamous serial killer, is your dad?” Peralta asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Er, the part about my father,” Malcolm says with a wince. “I’m sorry you had to find out about me like that, and I understand if it makes you uncomfortable to be around me—” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That is just </span>
  <em>
    <span>so cool</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Peralta interrupts, and it takes Malcolm a moment to process what he’s just said. “Not cool that he killed 23 people, of course. But like, you’re this amazing criminal profiler </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>you have an epic backstory, how much cooler can you get? I mean, I don’t mean to be insensitive about your experiences or anything, I’m not totally screwing this all up, am I?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm has to laugh. “If anyone is screwing anything up, it’s definitely me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What, for not being able to control who your dad is?” Peralta asks. “Trust me, I know a thing or two about having piece-of-crap dads. Not that I’m saying your dad was crappy to you or anything. Just the whole serial-killer thing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, you’re right, he’s a bad person,” Malcolm says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, good,” Peralta sighs in relief, “I mean, not good that he was a serial killer, more like good, I didn’t offend you, haha.” His tone turns introspective, wistful, as he continues to talk. “It’s just that, I can sort of relate to you, I guess. My dad was never around for me, and I caught him cheating on my mom, like, a billion times. He walked out on my mom and I when I was seven, and I grew up with a ton of issues because of it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That must have been hard,” Malcolm says, genuinely. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Obviously, that’s gotta be super different from having </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Surgeon</span>
  </em>
  <span> as your dad,” Peralta says. “I just meant, like, I would be the last person to judge you for who your parents are. I totally get it, and it sucks that people keep bringing it up around you like you’re the same person or something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm sighs, with feeling. “Well, that’s just how my life is, sometimes,” he says ruefully. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, this means we’re Loser-Dad Buddies, right?” Peralta laughs. “Actually, just kidding, that’s a horrible name. Please don’t tell anybody I said that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your secret is safe with me,” Malcolm promises, amused. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He leans his head back against the car seat, letting Peralta’s inane chatter move onto lighter, more harmless subjects. Malcolm finds the other man’s rambling to be oddly soothing, he muses, rather than annoying. There’s a lot about Jake Peralta that he should probably be annoyed about, actually, including his frequent lack of professionalism and borderline-immature behavior. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead, Malcolm finds he isn’t particularly bothered by any of it. Rather, he finds it… relieving. Being at the 99th precinct, working with Peralta, it’s all like a breath of fresh air. He doesn’t have to be so serious and focused all the time on solving a case in order to distract himself from his problems; he can lose himself to whatever new joke or mischief Peralta has thought up, even if it’s just for a moment or so. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Besides, Malcolm would be the world’s worst hypocrite if he complained about someone else using unorthodox methods and lacking professionalism.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm closes his eyes. It’s also admittedly nice to encounter one of the rare few in this world that don’t run screaming when they learn who Malcolm really is. Peralta’s hero-worship is confusing to him, but infinitely better than the fear and disgust he’s used to. And even if it’s not quite the same, he appreciates the camaraderie of having problematic fathers in their lives. It reminds him of boarding school, with Vijay, just the two of them against the world before it all came crashing down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, his time with Peralta and the 99th precinct will inevitably come to an end as well. That’s how it always goes for Malcolm. </span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This is getting us nowhere,” Diaz groans lowly. The setting sun’s rays reflect off of the maelstrom of stacked papers surrounding her desk, Dani and JT both blinking tiredly at the files in their hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peralta sighs as well. “The bar was kind’ve a bust, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So we have no leads.” Diaz sinks into her chair, frustration written across her face. “What now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean, it’s only our first day on the case,” Dani says. “There’s a lot of stuff we haven’t covered yet. We can regroup in the morning and come up with a better way to comb through all this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, not even Bright can catch a serial killer in just a day,” JT says, elbowing Malcolm good-heartedly. “We’re probably just burnt out from staring at the same files for hours.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just hate how slowly we’re making progress,” Peralta says, “when the killer’s still out there. Who knows when he’s gonna strike next?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm understands the feeling all too well. It’s what drives him to focus so single-mindedly every time he’s on a case.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, we definitely won’t be helping anyone by starving ourselves to death in here,” JT says, standing. “You Brooklynites know any good dinner joints nearby?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Actually, yeah!” Peralta perks up instantly at the mention of food. “There’s this amazing taco truck that does the best chorizo ever, even Diaz likes it. Hey, Rosa, let’s go show ‘em where it is, grab some dinner as a team!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eh, whatever,” Diaz sighs. “Not like I’ve got anything else going on tonight.” She stands as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You coming, Bright?” Dani asks him, pulling her coat on as the rest of the group begins packing away the files. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As usual, Malcolm doesn’t feel like eating anything. He’s loath to return to his dark, lonely apartment this early in the evening, though, so he agrees with a quick “Sure,” flashing Dani what he hopes is a reassuring smile. He’s not sure it worked, but hey, it’s the thought that counts, right?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Soon enough, they’re sitting in a small park, Peralta messily wolfing down two tacos at once while the others eat at a more sedate pace. Malcolm’s purchased a bottle of water to be polite, and pretends he doesn’t see everyone else’s concerned glances. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you guys ever get cases like this one?” Peralta’s asking, barely managing to not spray half-chewed sausage everywhere. “With an untraceable perp and all?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm, sometimes,” Dani says, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “Bright usually has a breakthrough around the second or third day.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>JT chimes in, “And then he tries to hunt the perp down all by himself, without calling for backup or even telling anyone where he is. You can’t work with this guy if you’ve got high blood pressure, that’s for sure.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, I’m not </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>bad,” Malcolm protests. When his teammates turn to stare incredulously at him, he adds sheepishly, “I mean, at least I manage to catch the suspect without getting injured. Most of the time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dude, that sounds awesome,” Peralta says. “At least you manage to find them, in the end.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know,” Diaz says, speaking up in her customary clipped tone, “if we really can’t find anything on our killer, I could go undercover at the bar and lure ‘em out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peralta chuckles, and then sees that Diaz is serious. “Actually,” he says, sobering abruptly, “that might work, if all else fails. The rest of us could be there in pairs as backup, and as long as you don’t actually go somewhere with the killer it shouldn’t be </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>dangerous.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If it comes to that, technically </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>could be the one going undercover,” Dani says. “I’m a single woman, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before Malcolm can protest, Diaz looks at Dani. “How many weapons do you usually carry on you?” She asks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dani frowns uncertainly. “I mean, when I’m on duty, I have the standard gear. Gun, baton, pepper spray, the usual.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly, there’s a wickedly-sharp hunting knife in Diaz’s hand that she pulled from seemingly nowhere, causing Malcolm and his teammates to jump. “I have at least ten of these on me at all times.” She glares at Dani, challengingly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peralta seems unfazed, chewing on the last bite of his taco. “Jus’ let Rosa do it,” he mumbles around his food. “It’s easier than arguing wi’ her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We don’t even know if we’ll need to go undercover,” Malcolm reminds them, mostly as a way to get Diaz to put the knife away. “It probably won’t come to that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Diaz puts the knife away. Malcolm breathes an internal sigh of relief. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Naturally, the next morning, they get a call about a fourth murder.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading!! Please let me know what you think :D</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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